


Hermione Granger and the Fake Rake

by TangentiaLives



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Hermione still has an unhealthy obsession with books, Magic is still a thing, OR IS HE, Sirius is a Rake!, Spicy Characters, all hail the modern bodice ripper, capital D Drama, did I binge watch the bridgertons in one day with two of my friends you bet your arse I did
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28582971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TangentiaLives/pseuds/TangentiaLives
Summary: “Miss Hermione Granger, Heiress of the late Earl of Keltham’s fortune, has at long last made her debut this Season. Rumour has her paired with Lord Sirius Black, Duke of Silverstoke, whose notorious reputation precedes him. Could it be that the lady has tamed one of the ton’s most elusive catches, or shall the courtship end in tears? We suppose only time shall tell…”Regency AU, Sirmione
Relationships: Sirius Black/Hermione Granger
Comments: 146
Kudos: 236





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> _In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently_ obsessed I am with Regency romances. And so, it seems, are some lovely people in the Strictly Sirmione group.
> 
> Hello fam. I can't be tamed. Here is the first chapter of a new Sirmione fic that I am _extremely_ excited to write. Is it plotted all the way out? Yes. Is it about 20 chapters? Yes. Is it self-indulgent? ABSOLUTELY.
> 
> Buckle up, my people. We are about to embark on a magical regency AU that will take the _Ton_ by storm. Without further ado...

"You _what?"_

Minerva McGonagall — Minnie to her intimates — looked at her ward over the top of her spectacles, unimpressed. "Must you make me repeat myself? I said it's time that we seriously contemplate your Season."

Hermione looked at her guardian with an absolutely horrified expression as they sat in the solarium, a room they had dedicated solely to the consumption of tea and biscuits. "I thought we agreed that I didn't _need_ a Season."

"No," Aunt Minnie corrected, "you said that you didn't need one, and I simply ate another biscuit."

"And silence is as good as tacit agreement," she insisted.

Aunt Minnie's eyes creased at the edges. "That's a pretty argument, lass, but it shall get you absolutely nowhere with me."

Hermione frowned and sat back in her chair, crossing her arms as she thought furiously. "What about going to visit Loch Lamond?" she asked, referencing her guardian's Scottish estate, which she held after her second husband's death. "We haven't been to visit in ages."

Sighing, Aunt Minnie put down the paper after folding it at the crease. "You can't avoid this, lass. We've done so already for two Seasons. Society accepted the first because of your parents' passing—Merlin bless them—and they accepted the second because I argued you were still grieving, but tongues will begin to wag if you don't debut."

Thinking of the incessant balls and parties and meaningless small talk made her want to be ill. "Is it all that important that I debut? Really? I don't want to be a leading lady or a Duchess or the Patroness of Almack's or any of that. All I want is to study magic and open a bookshop, or even a lending library, which I can safely do at Keltham." Her parents' estate included several large towns and villages that would gladly accept her patronage.

"It's not acceptable for a gentlewoman of your stature to simply abstain from the Season completely." Aunt Minnie's expression grew solemn, and she reached across the table to lay her hand on top of Hermione's. "I know that your parents' passing was...difficult for you, but wouldn't you like to experience the kind of match that they had? One of love and respect?"

Echoes of her mother's girlish laughter sounded in her ears as she thought of how her parents glowed in each other's presence, her light-hearted father making her mother laugh despite her tendency towards solemnity. Unfortunately, the halls of Keltham were silent now, those tinkling sounds never to grace the grounds again. Her mother had died, and her father, consumed by his grief, had followed shortly thereafter, leaving Hermione to haunt the grounds like a desolate spirit cloaked in blacks and drab greys.

"No," she said finally, thinking of her father's desolation. "No, I would not. I don't think I'm suited to marriage."

Aunt Minnie sighed again, her lips pursing. "Truthfully, my dear, I don't think they'll accept anything less from us than a full Season for you. They shan't let the Heiress of the Keltham slip through their fingers so easily. You'll be nothing less than a diamond of the first water, what with your looks and your fortune."

"My looks?" she sniffed. "Do be realistic, Aunt Min. My looks are nothing special. Why, Lavender Brown and Daphne Greengrass are marked to be the leaders of the Season this year, not I."

"I doubt that very much. You're a very pretty girl, both in beauty and in heart." Green eyes the colour of grass as the seasons turned to fall met hers, and Hermione was the first to look away.

"I really don't see the point of it," she felt compelled to say, her fingers picking at the napkin in her lap. "If I'm not going to get married, then why must I participate?"

"At the very least it will make you welcome in society should you choose to participate," her guardian said mildly, "which is no small thing. And besides, who else will be there to shepherd Harry through the process?"

Hermione cracked a smile at that. The Granger and Potter families had long been friends, their friendship borne first of proximity, as their estates were close to each other and their houses in town just across the Square, and then later of common interests and fondness. Harry and Hermione had known each other all their lives, and the black-haired boy had fairly pleaded with her not to abandon him to the "match-making mama's tender mercies" when she had last seen him.

"Fair enough," she allowed. "Both good points. But...I shan't get married, and there is nothing you can say to convince me otherwise. How many Seasons shall I have to endure before I can put myself on the shelf? I have _plans_ , Aunt Min, and they don't include marriage to a wizard or a witch. They include books. Many of them, some of which I will sell and some of which I will read."

Aunt Minnie's expression remained unchanged, even as Hermione's shocking bluestocking and — even worse — commerce-minded tendencies made themselves known. Not for the first time, Hermione was grateful that she had somehow ended up with a guardian whose personality so well matched her own, as she feared what would have happened to herself if she had ended up with a more traditional society matron. Possibly run off, she thought ruefully, or perhaps something worse.

"It must be at least three or four." Aunt Minnie reached for her cup of tea and took a sip. "And you've got to truly _try_ , at least for the first few, to convince everyone you're trying. Else, you'll doubtlessly offend those who see this as important."

"And it's important not to offend them?" Hermione asked archly.

"If you'd ever like to entertain the idea of some of your more...ambitious ideas coming to fruition, such as a lady's gathering for practicing spell work, then I would think so. Society can open just as many doors as it can close, so long as you establish and foster the right connections."

She had a point. If Hermione wanted such a thing to be even remotely feasible, or if she wanted to try and open a bookshop of her own that allowed ladies, even gently born ladies, access to all sections of the store, including the books on magic deemed too violent or advanced for a lady's delicate sensibilities, she would have to curry favour with those of the right influence.

She sighed and gave as gracefully as she knew how. "Two Seasons."

"Four Seasons. Trust me, my dear. I know what I'm about."

"Three Seasons," Hermione said, "and that's final."

Aunt Minnie put her teacup on its saucer, the porcelain touching without a sound, and placed her hands in her lap. "Very well. Three Seasons it is. Now, shall I send Mr Goldstein off to arrange an appointment at _Twilfitt and Tatting's_ for us in the morning?"

Hermione groaned at the idea of spending hours being measured and fitted as she stood before a mirror. "Must we?"

"A lady's armour is her clothes," Aunt Minnie said, "and I have a feeling you'll want, and need, as much of that as you can get."

Unfortunately, Hermione had the sinking feeling that she was right.


	2. Chapter Two

"The Season hasn't even begun, and yet you have still _somehow_ managed to break poor Miss Chang's heart." James Potter, Duke of Gryffindor, set down the paper on the table at White's, where they were taking lunch. "Quite a prodigious feat, if you ask me."

"Considering Miss Chang is currently at her country estate and has been for the past several weeks," Sirius replied nonchalantly as he reached for his tumbler of whiskey, "I find that rather miraculous myself."

Sea-blue eyes looked at him assessingly. "You're not even the least bit phased that they laid this at your feet, are you?"

"What's one more simpering Miss when I've broken the hearts of many before?" Sirius crossed his legs at the ankle, staring down at his boots. They needed another shine, especially on the toes. "They all think they can change me, but you and I both know the truth. I'll be the same wizard when I die that I am today."

James huffed out a laugh. As he absently pulled at his cravat to loosen it, he said, "As the papers have dubbed you _Siriusly Seductive_ , you hardly have the incentive to do otherwise."

"Oh, is that the new moniker? It's better than the old one. _Siriusly Scandalous_ , I think it was, or something like that." He smirked and ran a practiced hand through his hair.

"You really do enjoy this, don't you?"

He shrugged. "What's not to enjoy? I get to walk out with pretty girls and strapping boys, and nobody expects any aboveboard behaviour from me whatsoever. I'm practically a rite of tradition at this point. Get approved at Almack's, dance a few dances, eat one too many tea cakes, faint on cue—oh, and get your heart broken by Sirius Black."

And if it made his mother's thin lips get even thinner as whatever new dissolute thing he did made the rounds, so much the better. He had never lived up to their expectations, not even when he had tried, so what was the use?

It was all the better that nobody knew the real truth about his activities. When he was young and green and the world still seemed a brighter, more hopeful place, Sirius had enjoyed working closely with the gameskeepers at Silverstoke to manage their breeding programme for their dogs. The Black family had long been known for breeding exceptional setters and greyhounds, perfect hunting companions, and Sirius found himself enamoured with the beasts, who were loyal and true no matter how faulty and inferior he was.

It had been fun and easy, and it was how he had first encountered Marlene McKinnon, a young gentlewoman who had spent most of her life in the country and who had little inclination towards a proper society marriage. There had been a house party taking place at Silverstoke that summer, one that lasted several weeks, and one morning when he went to check on one of the bitches who had just whelped she had been there, a pretty young thing with hair the color of cornsilk and skin pale as cream, sitting in the hay and awash in puppies.

They had gotten on famously, both enthusiastic with their love of animals and dogs in general. Sirius had even played with the idea of asking to court her, figuring she was as good of a match as he was ever to get. Unfortunately, she had already reached a secret understanding with the son of the wizard next door, someone she had grown up with all her life. Her parents, she told him one afternoon as they rode out, were pressuring her for something better, but she didn't want better. She wanted Edward Eversley.

And so it was that Sirius' first encounter with a fake arrangement came to be. Sirius, who had been bothered nonstop by visiting matrons and their darling daughters, conceived of a way that the two of them could come to a satisfactory deal: he would pretend to be interested in her, and she would accept his attentions. Her parents would be satisfied she was trying, he would get meddling mothers off his back, and they could both spend an inordinate amount of time at the kennels and out of doors, avoiding the house party all together.

He still recalled those six weeks fondly, even for all the drama that ensued afterwards. When word had gotten out that he had ceased stepping out with Miss McKinnon, suddenly he was somehow both desirable (the younger set) and despicable (the mamas). Although it theoretically reflected poorly on Marlene, she had been thrilled, as it closed off her possibilities of a higher marriage and allowed her to marry her love.

What Sirius had not anticipated, however, was someone discovering their arrangement and asking him to do such a thing for them as well. Atonin Dolohov of all people had quietly asked him for the same arrangement while they danced together at one of the many balls, saying he only needed the facade to last for a few months until Thorfinn Rawle came back from touring the continent. His parents were pressing him to make a match sooner than that, and Antonin hoped that using an eligible match such as Sirius would tide him over until the other wizard returned.

After his initial dismay that Marlene had told Antonin what had truly occurred (they were childhood friends, it appeared), Sirius had warmed to the idea. It was only temporary, after all, and it would help shield him from the machinations of the scheming set during the Season.

He passed an enjoyable Season with Antonin, who did go on to marry Thorfinn in a rather sedate, unremarkable ceremony. The sudden end of their relationship (written up as something rather torrid in the scandal sheets) had only increased Sirius' rising notoriety as a rake out to break the hearts of the young and innocent, but he had rather savoured the incredibly pinched and strained look that grew on Mother's face in the weeks following.

It had also, strangely, started a rather bizarre trend where those who wished to escape the Season's traditional trappings would approach him and ask, very quietly, for his help. Sirius had told Antonin — rather _strongly_ told him, in face — not to disclose the truth to anyone, but Antonin had only shrugged helplessly when his cousin, Eustacia, had approached Sirius.

It was all very well, and Sirius rather _liked_ most of the people that went through it, but what he liked most was the freedom it afforded him and the absolute disgust it generated in one Walburga Black. _That_ , in truth, was particularly satisfying, and so he merrily tripped his way along through the masses of eligible men and women, his marked attentions noted in the papers. He enjoyed the freedom it allowed him, his partners got something out of it, and the _ton_ devoured it like the gossipmongers they were.

What he hadn't anticipated was that it became a _good_ thing to be courted by him, the notorious rake, as it always, inevitably, seemed to result in a marriage shortly thereafter. Sin with Sirius, it seemed according to the scandal sheets, and you'd be Sinfully Satisfied by the partner you got afterward.

Or some rot like that.

He didn't quite understand how something so beyond the pale had somehow become a coveted rite of passage, but then again, most of the _Ton_ had fluff between their ears and not a galleon of common sense betwixt them.

Ah, well.

So long as he got to spend time at the kennels and with his friends, he didn't particularly care one way or the other what the others said.

And speaking of friends—

"Is my godson ready for his first year on the meat market?" Sirius asked James, who sighed and put a hand over his face.

"He'll be eaten alive, I fear." He shook his head. "At least he has a few friends set to debut around the same time as him, so he'll have someone to go round with. Truly, it's a good thing Miss Granger's making a show of it, finally, since a lot of the attention will be on her."

"Ah, is she finally doing so?" Sirius leaned back in his chair. "It's been what, three Seasons since she should have made her coming out?"

"Two," James corrected. "It was terrifically difficult for her after her parents died. It was like the light had gone out of her." He sighed. "She's such a nice girl, although a bit...unconventional. If I didn't know better, I would have tried for a marriage between her and Harry."

He'd only met the girl a few times years before, when he had attended a house party James and Lily had held. She'd seemed acceptable enough, he supposed, a young thing with large eyes of amber and a willowy, lithe figure who'd been watching from the second floor with the other younglings. "Why didn't you?"

Jammed huffed. "They'd kill each other in a year. Besides, we all know our Harry likes blokes best."

As someone who'd seen Harry hate and lust after a certain uppity ponce since he'd been barely out of leading strings, Sirius could, in fact, attest to that.

"Well," he said with a shrug, "at least it'll make for an interesting Season. The well-dowered heiress of Keltham and the Heir to the Dukedom of Gryffindor. I'm sure there will be hijinks and matchmaking aplenty."

"Yes," James said with a droll look, "plenty. Thank Merlin Lily's got a handle on it for Harry."

"And thank Merlin," Sirius added, quite heartfelt, "that I'll be toddling along on my own merry way, quite immune from it all once I get set. I want none of those dramatics—they always give me a headache."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As if the scandal sheets wouldn't run wild with Sirius's name. I mean, come on: it's a given.
> 
> Posting Note: Thanks for all your kind reviews and encouragement, all! This is my first time writing anything vaguely Regency, so please bear with me (apologies in advance) as I figure out how to write to the style. 
> 
> I'm having a lot of fun with this and will update as I finish. That being said, there is no regular schedule. It'll happen when it happens lol


	3. Chapter Three

On Tuesday mornings, Hermione had a routine she rather enjoyed. She would break her fast in the morning room and enjoy a leisurely hour reading the latest book or practicing some of her favourite spells. If she was feeling the urge to do something else, she'd sit down at the pianoforte and practice. Playing the instrument never failed to remind her of her mother, who excelled at the instrument. Sometimes, even still, it was too painful to sit at the bench her mother had sat at, so she spent rather less time practicing than she likely should.

After passing most of the morning in such a fashion, Hermione would typically call for Catherine, her lady's maid, and off they would go to _Flourish and Blotts_. If Aunt Min felt so inclined, which was passingly frequent, she would accompany them and peruse the aisles as well for something that struck her fancy.

However, on this particular Tuesday, Hermione had neither had her hour to spend as she pleased nor had her time at the bookstore as she so liked.

No. There was none of that.

Instead, they'd gone to Madame Malkin's, who was the premier modiste for girls of Hermione's age and standing (older witches tended to patron Madame Lanchester's down the way, which was more avant garde in its adoption of French fashion in terms of cut and colour). It was there that she stood for several hours on a pedestal while Madame Malkin and bevy of her shopgirls expertly cut, sewed, and stitched the gowns to fit Hermione's form precisely with the most advanced of spells. Madame Malkin had told her, several hours in, of a new spell coming out of Germany that could potentially cut down on the length of fittings such as this. Unfortunately such a thing was far off, and when it _was_ proven successful, the news and the mechanics of how it would work would take a fair amount of time to reach Britain's fair shores.

So. Her Tuesday was a shambles.

It didn't particularly matter overmuch in the larger scheme of things, but she felt irrationally off kilter since it meant that Theodore Nott, who tended to patron _Flourish and Blotts_ nearly as much as she did, would likely have already come and gone and would thus be unable to tell her which of the books she should instruct Harry to purchase for her. After all, some spellwork was simply beyond the realm of a lady's comprehension or had been deemed too much for a lady's delicate sensibilities, and the books containing such knowledge had been put in a restricted section for men's eyes only.

Hermione rather thought — no, she _knew_ — that school of thought was utter rubbish, but rules were rules, and the leftmost corner of the store on the first floor remained forbidden. Ergo, her discussions with Theodore and her expedient use of Harry.

It wasn't as though missing one Tuesday's worth of Theodore's intelligence would be world ending, she reasoned with herself. It was just disappointing. There were still many works of fiction or philosophy or mathematics she could peruse to pass the time, and she could always check to see if any new books on spells she _could_ purchase had been stocked as well.

The shop was as pleasant as always, the smell of parchment and ink and binding glue making her relax. Catherine stood up by the front talking with Blott's eldest boy, who was manning the front, while Hermione lost herself in the rows, paging through several volumes.

Slowly, she collected a few tomes as she made her way through the rows. A title on crop rotation and estate management caught her eye, and she moved to pull it from the shelf. She and Mister Weasley, her steward, could discuss the specifics via correspondence once she finished and sent it to him to read. Just as she reached for it, though, a hand gloved in supple, tan leather reached out and plucked it off the shelf.

Startled, she looked up into the gleaming grey eyes.

"May I please have that volume?" she asked politely even as her eyes catalogued the noble in front of her.

It was plain as day that he was part of the aristocracy. His clothes were of the latest fashion—so avant garde she wondered if he had recently returned from a tour of the Continent—and made of superfine and acromantula silk that clung to his form. Wavy, jet black hair just a smidgen too long curled over the edge of his ears underneath the hat, the dark, almost black emerald fabric setting off his eyes quite well.

If his clothes didn't scream wealth, the way he fairly _loitered_ in the aisle did. His posture was full of cocksure confidence, his weight resting on the back of one booted foot, while his lips tilted in a small, lazy smile.

"What, this?" he looked down at the book. "I'm afraid not. I've been waiting for this to come into stock for several weeks."

"But I was reaching for it first," she protested. "I would very much like it back."

"My lady, such a book is not meant for your tender eyes, I'm sure." Black brows swept up in his face. "Surely you have no need for this as your lord should tend these things. What about the latest novel by the Lady Sprout? I hear the scenery descriptions are moving."

Her nostrils flared. "Out of all the arrogant, high-handed things to say—"

"It's not arrogant if it's truth," he riposted, his smile deepening. "After all, such a mild, meek-mannered miss such as you would surely not be interested in things such as estate management."

The sly in his eye made her pause. "Are you...are you making fun?"

He shrugged, tilting his head. "Am I?"

Her eyes narrowed. "If you're quite done insulting me or making jokes at my expense, I would like the book back very much. Then we may go on our separate ways and never cross paths again. Indeed," she said frostily, "I shall look forward to crossing the street the next time I see you."

The man slapped a hand to his chest, his expression one of pain. "A fatal blow indeed. However shall I recover?"

"However you do," she returned tartly, frustration bubbling inside her, "I would appreciate it if you did it elsewhere, out of my sight, so long as you return that which you wrongfully took."

"My lady, the work was still on the shelf. It is through no fault of my own that I simply reached for it first."

"But I am a _lady_ ," she said, "and it is your prerogative to respect my wishes. Therefore," she held out her hand, "the book, if you please."

In response, he tucked it under his arm. "I'm afraid I cannot do what you wish. However," he bowed, "should we meet again, I will do you a favour of your asking as penance for my abhorrent behaviour."

She huffed. "You may keep your favour to yourself. I want nothing to do with an impolite book thief."

He laughed, the sound warm and caressing. His eyes creased at the corners, and she mentally revised her estimation of his age upwards. He was, perhaps, fifteen or twenty or so years older than her, though she was never good at guessing people's ages. That meant, however, that she really shouldn't be talking with him at all, especially since they hadn't been properly introduced.

More unfortunately, though, it meant she'd likely as not be dancing with him at some point in the near future in one of the many events of the Season.

Drat.

"A book thief?" he asked. "I've been called many, many things, but I can safely say that is the first time I've been called that."

"Well." She bobbed a light, mocking curtsey. "That is what you are, in word and in name. Good day to you, sir."

He bowed at the waist, grey eyes dancing as he kept his eyes pinned to hers. "Good day, my lady."

What a ruffian.

Her temper pricked, she swept out of the shop, telling Blott that she'd be back next Tuesday, if not sooner, and collecting Catherine on the way out.

"My lady," Catherine said, her voice hushed. "Do you know who that was?"

"A rude, impolite man." She huffed as she entered the carriage.

Catherine shook her head, her eyes wide. "It was Lord Black, ma'am. Sirius Black."

Hermione sat back against the carriage seat. "Black?" she echoed in disbelief. "Merlin. I hope nobody saw us," she said fervently. "Imagine the lies that horrible Skeeter woman would spread if she knew we had been within speaking distance of each other!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem, ahem. *clears throat* Let the shenanigans commence!


	4. Chapter Four

Given that his house in town hosted only him and his shrew of a mother and that it resembled a mausoleum more than an actual residence, Sirius spent what some might call an unnatural amount of time at the Potter's townhome just across the Square. While Sirius sometimes felt the vague stirring of guilt for that, most of the time he didn't bother, as it allowed him to watch the rather overblown histrionics of his godson that occurred whenever he had encountered the newly minted Lord Malfoy.

"He just makes me sick," Harry fumed as he stripped off his gloves. "His arrogance, his holier-than-thou attitude...why, it makes me want to-to-to trounce him!"

Sirius rather thought Harry meant something else, but that was neither here nor there. "Oh yes," he said blandly, "why don't we just haul him out of White's and engage in fisticuffs right in the street?"

"Yes!" Harry agreed triumphantly, then frowned. "Wait. What? No."

"If that's not sufficient, we could just call him out and duel at dawn," Sirius suggested, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head. "After all, his actions were absolutely unforgivable! What were they again?"

A kinder man would call Harry's journey to a chair in the smoking room swift and powerful. Sirius was not a kinder man.

Harry sulked. Loudly.

"All I was doing," Harry told him as he threw himself onto a chair, "was getting my new evening wear tailored. Seraphina—"

"Oh, Seraphina, is it?" Sirihs asked, greatly entertained.

"Oh, shut it." Harry glared at him. "She does the embroidery on my clothes. There's nobody better. Plus," he added, "she always has the time to see me."

Sirius just bet she did. If she was the Seraphina Sirius was thinking of, the miss had had a tendré for Harry for quite some time. And if Malfoy, who had been successfully needling Harry since they were out of leading strings in a very interesting attempt at getting his attention, had seen this, Sirius could only imagine the results.

"So. I was getting the cuffs and collars of my coats and shirts embroidered, and Malfoy walks in with his nose so high in the air I'm surprised he could see where he was going. Of course, he demands Seraphina's services—"

"Of course he did."

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" Harry demanded.

Sirius held up his hands. "By all means."

"He walks in, he demands to use Seraphina's services right then, but of course I'm using them. Seraphina doesn't particularly like him anyhow — something about Lord Malfoy — the old Lord Malfoy, that is — insulting her work? Regardless, I told him no because I had already engaged her services as he could obviously see, and so Malfoy just sits there and sulks and drinks wine as he watches me with Seraphina. As if he has nothing better to do!"

Wisely, Sirius kept his mouth shut.

"So then," Harry continued, really gaining steam, "he just comments, easy as you please, that he thought the colour of my jacket wasn't becoming."

"What colour was it?"

"Plum," Harry promptly replied. "But apparently that colour is an offense to the senses when paired with my black hair. 'Too boring by half', he said, so of course I had to respond in kind. 'And an emerald cravat is better?' I replied — very witty, I thought — and he replied that at least it was complementary to his colouring, and then I said the only person who could pull off emerald with any kind of style was Miss Greengrass — because let's be honest, she looks beautiful in anything — and then of course we began arguing, and the Lady Windthrop was there, and we got thrown out!"

"If you're going to have a rumble in the establishment, I can see why." Sirius could hardly keep his face straight. The sight of his godson acting so animated when he was normally fairly level-headed and tended to be reserved made it difficult. "Did you draw wands?"

Harry leveled a look at him. "Do I seem like a complete imbecile?"

"So what happened to the coat?"

"Ah." Harry settled into his chair. "All of it will be ready by Friday next. Seraphina promised it."

"Just in time for the presentation."

Happily, Harry nodded. "Just so. And I'll be wearing my plum jacket, like it or not."

"Whatever you feel you look sharpest in, my boy. Confidence is the name of the game when it comes to a presentation before the Queen. You'll certainly be set, especially since you're an heir to a Dukedom and your father and I have ensured your summoning skills are a cut above the rest, but it's best not to make any waves."

Harry nodded, suddenly looking a bit nervous. "It'll be fine, I'm sure. Mother and Father are coming. We've been practicing in the evenings. Would you take a look at my presentation tonight? I think you've got the most flair for it."

"Of course," he said immediately. "And Harry...would you like me to come as well? I'm not certain...with my reputation—"

"The Queen herself pulled you aside to ask you about your latest paramour last Season, did she not?" Harry raised a brow.

At the recollection of that tete a tete, Sirius grimaced. "She did," he allowed.

"So that's that, then. Besides, as you're my godfather and all...you're basically required."

"If that's as you wish," he replied reluctantly. It would be a damned crush and a waste of an afternoon for him, but if Harry needed him there, then there he would be.

"And Sirius?" Harry busied himself with pouring another tumbler of whiskey from the decanter on the sideboard. "The coat...plum doesn't really set me off poorly, does it?"

A bark of laughter escaped Sirius before he could stop it. "Harry. No. It sets you off quite well. Too well, I bet."

"Ah." Harry sat up straight. "Excellent. That's the coat then. The cobbler's already come by with several sets of boots. One pair wasn't wide enough on the right to hold the holster, so I sent it back, but I've got several decisions. We'll see which works best over the next week."

The two of them whiled away the evening until the evening meal was served in the family dining room. James, Lily and Harry were present, but little Hyacinth had been taken upstairs as she'd gotten in trouble for escaping to the garden yet again. Afterwards, Lily and Harry went up to his quarters to look at something Harry had requested her opinion on, and James and Sirius retired to the billiards room, at which point Sirius regaled his oldest and best friend with his son's antics.

"You do know," Sirius said with an arched brow as he lined up his cue and broke the rack, "that Malfoy likely as not is going to be your son-in-law, do you not?"

James groaned and hid his face in his hands. "Don't remind me." He shuddered. "At least Lucius is dead and gone. A more insufferable bastard I've never met. Hopefully Malfoy the younger takes after his mother, who is at least tolerable if not a complete snob about most things." Suddenly, he looked up, a gleam in his eyes. "Don't fancy him as a husband yourself, do you?"

Sirius recoiled. "Draco Malfoy? Never. Besides, he's far too much like Regulus. I…" he shook his head at the thought of his brother, who had been bound to duty and determined to reach perfections. "I couldn't."

Shrugging, he quaffed the rest of his drink and watched James sink ball after ball. The Duke of Gryffindor had always routed him at the game. "I don't think I'll ever get married, he said after a long while of comfortable silence had passed. "I'm not sure I'm cut out for it. That, and I'd be hard pressed to find someone to put up with my sorry arse and Walburga."

He'd also learned from Reggie's mistakes as well. The damned fool had—

No. It was best not to dwell on it.

"No fear, Prongs." He toasted his friend with his empty glass as he called him by the nicknames they'd come up with for each other at Cambridge. "I'll be here for our Harry until the bitter end."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next up: The Presentation occurs, and the scene is set. Hijinks ensue._


	5. Chapter Five

It was _him_. That horrible, rude wizard who had stolen the book she'd so coveted the other day at _Flourish and Blotts_. Just as the other day, he was impeccably attired, though his more casual morning jacket had been exchanged for a high-necked, single-breasted tailcoat of black forest green, a waistcoat if intricately worked, bright silver, and a cravat with more flourishes than was possibly good for it.

If she wasn't where she was, she would be going right over there and giving him a good piece of her mind, propriety or not.

"Hermione, dear, whatever is the matter? You are glowering absolutely ferociously, which has no place in the Queen's drawing room!" Aunt Min, clad in a resplendent gown of ivory with understated gold detailing, seemed fit to be tied. "Whatever the issue, please put it aside until _after_ the presentation. Good lord, girl. You're about to go before the Queen herself!"

"It's that _man_ ," Hermione hissed. "He's here."

Harry, who was standing a mere metre or so away from her with his parents, looked over. "The one from the bookshop?" he asked, interested. She'd wasted no time in regaling him of the man's atrocious behaviour.

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "The one who stole my book."

Harry winced. "Ah, Hermione—er, Miss Granger—that's, well—"

"Your what? Speak up, Har—er, Mister Potter."

"My godfather," he said in a rush.

Stupefied, she stared at him. "Your _what_? Don't be silly. Lord Black can't _possibly—"_

"Ah, Harry, there you are!" Said wizard in question had cut through the crush and now stood directly next to Harry, _his godson_.

With her eyes, Hermione promised Harry that she would murder him the next time they were alone. How he had managed to neglect telling her that _Padfoot_ , the man who he referred to so often, was Sirius Black, was beyond her.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm so glad you came."

"I promised I would, and here I am," he replied grandly. "Now, won't you introduce me to the lovely lady standing with us?"

Harry frowned. "I'm certain you've been introduced before, but to observe the niceties and all that—May I present Miss Hermione Granger, heiress to the Earldom of Keltham?"

Hermione watched as the older wizard's brows rose. "Miss Granger? Surely not. I thought she was knobby-kneed and bucktoothed."

"Be that as it may," she put in with a positively wintry tone, "even knobby-kneed and bucktoothed girls grow up."

"That they do," Harry said hastily. "But of course, we can't see her knees now, because that would be scandalous indeed."

"This entire _conversation_ is scandalous," Lady Potter, who was resplendent in a similar cream coloured gown like Aunt Min and her own, said drily. She rapped the black-haired wizard on the arm with her fan as Lord Black looked down at where Hermione thought he imagined her knees were. "Do stop baiting Miss Granger. The poor girl's likely frayed with nerves."

Considering Hermione didn't particularly care one way or the other what Queen Charlotte thought of her, as she planned to retire to Keltham and open her own bookshop, that assessment wasn't quite true. However, she would be the last to contradict the Duchess of Gryffindor, not only because of her standing as one of the _ton'_ s leading matrons but also because she had been in Hermione's life for as long as she could remember. The witch had even offered to take Hermione in when her parents had passed if Aunt Minnie had declined.

"Lady Potter," Hermione gave a small curtsey, "it is a _true_ pleasure to see you."

"You as well, my dear. Let me look at you." Her bright green eyes took in Hermione's ensemble, a snow white dress that gathered under the bust before flowing down and trailing behind her in a small train. Gold embroidery at the sleeves and hem made the dress one step away from plain, though the gossamer thin golden thread stitched throughout the fabric made it sparkle in the light in a way that pleased the eye very much indeed.

"Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful." Lady Potter looked satisfied. "Although…" she reached out and adjusted one of the five ostrich feathers Hermione's lady's maid had somehow attached to her rather intricate braids. "There. Perfect. Have you been practicing your curtsey?"

"Yes, Lady Potter." Hermione nodded. For all that she didn't care, she wasn't going to set herself up for failure. The last two fortnights had seen Hermione practicing both her walk and her curtsey, with Aunt Min lounging in a chair at the end of the formal parlour as the fake Queen. The elder witch had been quite amused at it all, drinking tea by the pound and more biscuits than could possibly be healthy as she corrected Hermione's attempts.

"Excellent. Now—"

"For Merlin's sake, Lily." Lord Potter appeared next to his wife as he adjusted his cravat. "She'll be fine. Her—Miss Granger, a pleasure to see you. We've not seen you this week at all."

Hermione looked at Aunt Min, who explained, "We've been preparing for the Season. You know how it is. Dresses, etiquette, and the like."

Lord Black cocked his head slightly as he looked between the members of the group. "It seems I've failed to realize how close the two families are, which is deuced surprising."

"You know," Lady Potter said with a thoughtful look, "I suppose you've always missed each other. Before her parents passed, Miss Granger did spend a fair amount of time in Keltham, and while she was in mourning she obviously was not making calls, but I fail to see how, in the last year, you've not managed to cross paths at our home before."

"Her—" Harry winced as he blundered the second time, "Miss Granger typically calls in the morning, whereas Sirius likes to come in the evening."

"A pity we've missed each other, isn't it? Perhaps if we had met before, I would have been more likely to give you the book."

Hermione, who had been sufficiently engaged by the conversation, felt irritation prickle at her again at the mention. She wasn't normally so pigheaded as this, but it was the principle of the matter! A gentlemen ought to give a lady what she requests, and a gentleman— _any_ gentleman–ought to give Hermione Granger _any_ book that she requests.

"Stop provoking Miss Granger." Lord Potter subtly stepped on his friend's foot. "This isn't the place for your mischief, Sirius. Serious games are afoot. Important ones."

" _Serious_ indeed." Sirius smirked, though he noticeably restrained himself from commenting further.

"Lady Potter. How wonderful to see you."

Hermione would know Lady Malfoy anywhere, though she'd never personally met the lady herself prior to now. Regarded as a diamond of the first water when she debuted, the witch still retained her absolutely stunning beauty, with pale, silken hair, sharp, blue eyes, and an enviable silhouette. It was reported that her vitality had dimmed not the slightest upon the passing of her husband, Lord Malfoy, a year past.

"Lady Malfoy," Lady Potter acknowledged politely, though her tone had warmed as she said, "And Lord Malfoy. You are looking very well."

Draco Malfoy, who Harry had some strange, unfounded enmity for, looked absolutely dashing in his sapphire tailcoat and pale golden waistcoat. Both colours made his skin glow, and for the first time, Hermione was envious that she had no ability to even come close to the beauty of someone like him.

"Lord Malfoy." Harry inclined his head to the degree required and not a shade lower.

"Lord Potter," Malfoy returned, for though Harry was not yet Duke, he held several courtesy titles. "I see you're wearing your...coat."

Harry straightened noticeably. "It's a very fine coat, I think."

"Not this again," Lord Potter muttered. Next to him, Sirius suddenly coughed, though Hermione thought it sounded suspiciously like laughter.

"It's lovely," Lady Malfoy commented diplomatically. "The colour brings out your eyes very well, indeed."

"I-er, it does? I mean, thank you Lady Malfoy." Glancing over at her son, he added, "I'd heard it was too pedestrian."

"The word was plebeian," Lord Malfoy corrected in a drawl, his eyes slowly raking over Harry's form.

Hermione was _certain_ this time that Lord Black's cough was a poor attempt to conceal laughter.

Harry, who was shifting uncomfortably under Lord Malfoy's gaze and slowly turning a pale pink, asked, "Isn't that rather the same thing?

"Draco. Draco, darling," Lady Malfoy cut in, "Don't we have other things to focus on than the shade of Lord Potter's _rather nice tailcoat?_ "

As if on cue, an announcement was made that the presentations would soon commence. The gentlemen, who would make their own sort of presentations, went to stand with their families on one side of the room, as they went first, while Hermione and Aunt Minnie moved to the other side.

Unaccountably, Hermione was struck with a sudden bout of nerves. "What if I fall?" she asked Aunt Min.

The stalwart, grey-haired witch looked into her ward's eye. "You won't, my dear. And if you do, then what's for it? After all," she lowered her voice, "you're only here for the show of it, aren't you?"

Hermione bit her lip as she looked up right into the grey eyes of Lord Black. One eye dropped in an unmistakable wink, and she felt that familiar irritation course through her again.

"Right," she said firmly. "Only for the show of it. Three Seasons can't come and go fast enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. So. My 20 chapter outline? That's a joke. It will be longer than that given how the pacing is coming out, but at least I've got the outline complete to follow! We'll see how long this ends up being. Probably about 60-80K, if I'm going to take a nice guess.
> 
> Let me know what you all think! Reviews are always appreciated.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A Note about Presentations**
> 
> I have received several questions about Presentations and what they entail. I wanted to share a reply sent to one reviewer in particular, as I hope it might help others understand the process as well. If you know about this already, feel free to skip. Obligatory disclaimer: This is only accurate in as far as I understand it so take it with a grain of salt.
> 
> _"HISTORICALLY (and this is like legit), young noble/wealthy girls were presented to the queen at her court. Typically they had to wear Court Dress (a specific type of outfit only worn at court and dictated by the queen) and make their curtsey. If they did a bang up job of it, the Society Matrons who were basically the boss ladies of the entire social session would be like, "nice job angelica, you can come hang out at Almack's", which is THE dancing salon place to go if you want to get married. (Why? I am unsure.) If you get snubbed by the ladies, it's a big deal and both your season and your marital prospects could be pretty irrevocably ruined._
> 
> _Men I don't think usually had to present - at least none of my research showed this as a thing (although if they went to court I thinkkkk they had Court Dress as well) Traditionally men in this time period got to eff around doing whatever they pleased, though two rites of passage were usually observed: education at Cambridge or Oxford, and then a Tour (of the continent), which was basically a huge excuse to carouse around Europe for a few years and come back._
> 
> _In this story I will be, er, keeping to the spirit of that but, um, judiciously editing it and adding some things."_

Court presentations were almost always, without fail, tedious. Regardless of if it were the men or the ladies presenting to the Queen, the poor things had to go up one at a time and make a good showing of it. Queen Charlotte traditionally remained bored by the entire thing, although occasionally she would stir enough to make some sort of comment that either cemented one's popularity or completely destroyed one's chances at a good marriage completely.

Personally, Sirius still couldn't understand why men were required to present at all. He supposed the demonstration of magical skill was supposed to showcase a man's ability to defend the realm as well as his general prowess, but he sincerely doubted that a verbal _Accio_ would win the war.

No, it was all rather asinine. Unfortunately, he knew from personal experience that Her Majesty used this time to examine the entire lot of them so she could begin her machinations.

She was, after all, always after a diversion.

As the upcoming Duke of Gryffindor, Harry would likely be going near the beginning of it all. Despite Sirius' loathing of his own Dukedom and its attendant duties, he was grateful indeed that Harry, who was an heir _and_ who already held courtesy titles, would be going closer to the start.

That way, they would have the opportunity to leave instead of being locked here. Although, now that he saw how Lily doted on Miss Granger, he had the sinking feeling he would be here all afternoon indeed.

"Lord Draco Malfoy, Duke of Avondale, Marquess of Stanford, Earl of Ravendale, Viscount of Wexford."

Sirius watched his second cousin (third cousin? Were they a degree removed? He couldn't quite recall.) make his way down the room with a sedate but purposeful stride, his posture tall and unafraid as his mother kept pace three steps back and to the left of him. As the highest ranking peer in the presentation — and indeed, one of the highest in all of England — he would make his bow first.

Stopping the appropriate distance before Queen Charlotte, Draco made a perfect, graceful bow, his arms sweeping out and then behind him as his head lowered almost to knee level before rising. As he straightened, he pushed his right leg forward and moved his right arm up above his head and then out to his side in a graceful arc.

A moment later, his wand, holstered inside his boot, flew up and neatly into his hand.

The crowd gasped and even Her Majesty appeared impressed, an eyebrow arching and a small smile appearing on her lips.

"Merlin," James muttered. "Wordless, too? He'll shame the rest of the boys without even trying."

Next to him, Sirius felt Harry tense. "Don't fret," he reassured his godson. "Just do it like you and your father and I practiced."

"Wordless summoning is a skill most men never master," James added, clearly hoping to alleviate the anxiety rampant on Harry's face. "Your _Accio_ is quite good enough."

"And don't try and outdo Malfoy," Lily finished, reaching out to touch Harry's hand where they were clasped behind his back. "I know you've got some strange kind of...well. I know you and him can be rather competitive, but now is not the time to try and one up him with something _more_ impressive, especially when you haven't practiced it. Remember, you're representing our entire family. Simple and quick will do the trick."

"Right." Harry closed his eyes briefly and blew out a breath. "Simple and quick."

"That's my lad." James nodded encouragingly.

"Harry Potter, Heir to the Dukedom of Gryffindor, Marquess of Devonshire."

Damn and blast it all. Harry was next. It made sense, considering there were only a few Dukes in the kingdom in the first place and they could hardly all be the same age, but he didn't like it. Malfoy, who was both pompous as well as (apparently) extremely intelligent and hardworking, had set the bar very high.

But Harry didn't need to set a trend. Harry just needed to do well enough.

As Harry set forth, James flanking his right and Lily mirroring Narcissa's placement, Sirius found himself holding his breath. Across the hall, he caught a glimpse of Miss Granger doing the same, her eyes wide as she worried her lip and stared after Harry.

His bow was much less embellished than Malfoy's, though it was graceful and respectful all the same. His feet were well planted and closer together than Malfoy's. Instead of sending both arms out, he had instead tucked his right behind him and kept his left flush and diagonal to his chest at outset. As he bowed, he replaced his arms so that his right was now over his chest and his left was behind him, the positioning mimicking that of a vow of fealty.

A moment later, Harry bent his right arm at the elbow so his palm was to the floor and slid his right boot forward, his toe pointing at an angle to the throne. The foot placement increased the difficulty of the summoning, as it created more friction as the wand slid against the boot and thus required more magical power to see through. Sirius had thought it a nice touch, as the understated nature matched Harry's personality indeed.

" _Accio."_

Sirius watched in fierce satisfaction as the wand slapped into Harry's hand with an audible sound, the magic compelling it clearly forceful and powerful.

As was typical, the Queen made no visible reaction, though Sirius thought he saw her eyes flicker to Malfoy, who had taken place inside the audience chambers, for an instant.

He wondered what she knew of their tumultuous relationship. Hopefully nothing, or else she might be compelled to meddle.

As the subject of her previous machinations, Sirius wanted her far away from his godson indeed.

The rest of the bows went without issue, though the Longbottom boy almost made a hash of summoning his wand, as it wobbled precariously for a moment before he safely plucked it out of the air. Luckily, one of the Queen's dogs, a little mop of a thing that was situated in her lap, had started licking her hand. She had looked down for a moment right as Longbottom's wand wobbled in midair and looked up right as his fingers closed around it.

Sirius had never loved dogs more in that moment.

Now that the wizards had paid their pound of flesh, the ladies could have their moment. After rejoining with the Potters, who had gone to the left side of the audience chambers but maintained a front and center view as dictated by their status, he watched as ostrich feathers bobbed in the distance.

He thought for a moment of Miss Granger, that headstrong young lady who was apparently quite close indeed to the family he almost counted as his own. She had looked rather fetching, as did most of the ladies and gentlemen present since they were in formal Court Dress, but it had been that challenging spark in his eyes he liked best.

It was unfortunate that someone as headstrong as her would likely not be a good companion for the Season. He huffed at the thought. No, she'd be ordering him every which way, dictating their activities without so much as a _by your leave_. Her remarks about the company they kept, though, would likely be quite diverting given what he'd experienced before and seen today, but the lure of a sharp mind and intelligent wit didn't quite outweigh that off her bossy nature.

Sirius Black was not a man who liked to be told what to do.

"Miss Hermione Granger, Heiress to Keltham!"

He watched as she glided down the runner, her gait confident and unlike that of the other meek misses who had gone before her. The ostrich feathers attached to her braids waved gently as she sank in a deep, absolutely perfect curtesy and held it for what seemed like an eternity.

Just as she rose, Queen Charlotte stopped petting her dog, who looked rather aggrieved at the sudden loss of attention.

"Exquisite."

Sirius caught his breath.

Miss Hermione Granger had just been marked as one of the Queen's favourites of the Season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next up: A dinner party. Gasp. Do our two protagonists sit next to each other? And what's all this fuss about a letter?_


	7. Chapter Seven

It had seemed only logical to go to the Potter's house after the Presentations ended. Both she and Harry were in a state of shock (for varying reasons), and Aunt Min and Lady Potter had deftly guided them out of the audience chamber and bundled them into their carriages with only a quick conference between the two of them.

"You simply must come," Lady Potter had insisted while Harry glared at the Malfoy carriage as it pulled up behind theirs in all its intricate silver and wood glory.

"Of course they have two matched pairs of abraxans," he muttered. "Pretentious."

"Stop harping on Malfoy," Hermione told him absently, still reeling inwardly from what had just happened earlier.

 _Exquisite_. Aunt Min had smiled the smug smile of a Cheshire cat at the Queen's proclamation while Hermione's spirits had plummeted.

"We'll be over around ten, if that suits?" Aunt Min asked Lady Potter, who nodded in reply.

 _Exquisite_. Drat. How could her entire plan for a halfhearted Season be ruined by one word?

"I'm not going to have a quiet Season, am I?" Hermione's despondent comment was overhead by her guardian, who squeezed her arm.

"Truly, my dear, it's a blessing. We'll be sure to be inundated with callers tomorrow and invitations to the most exclusive events."

As Hermione settled into the seat of their carriage, she frowned at Aunt Minnie, who had taken the seat across from her. "I don't want a busy Season. I want a boring, sedate Season. When else am I going to read books to figure out what I want in my bookshop?"

Aunt Minnie looked at her for a long moment before visibly deciding not to comment. "It will be fun," she repeated. "Let's just take it one day at a time."

Instead of one day at a time, Hermione thought tetchily a few hours later, she would have to take it one meal at a time.

Actually, scratch that. She'd have to take it one _course_ at a time.

"Won't it be just wonderful?" Lady Potter gushed, her eyes glittering with excitement. "You and Harry can go to all the best soirees and parties now. Think of it — Vauxhall, the operas, and all the balls you'll be invited to. You're one of the Incomparables of the Season, Hermione. Everyone will _want_ you to attend their gatherings."

"Precisely what I didn't want," she muttered as she carefully blew on a spoonful of soup.

Next to her, her assigned dinner companion radiated amusement at her unfortunate situation. "Not a big fan of social outings, I take it?" Lord Black asked.

"You could say that."

"People not to your liking?"

He was positively gleeful at her suffering, wasn't he?

"I'm fine with some people," she replied. "Just not all." Her sidelong look at him was lost as he was drinking a sip of wine.

As he put down his glass, he turned his attention to her. "It's a true shame, as you're a very diverting companion."

Her arched brow belied her disbelief. "A diverting companion."

His mouth split into a grin. When he was amused like this, it made his grey eyes warm. When combined with the direct weight of his gaze, it had the very unsettling effect of making him dashed handsome indeed. She could see why lords and ladies alike fell under his spell.

But not her. No, she knew better than to let a handsome smile and nice eyes detract her from her purpose, especially when they belonged to Sirius Black, the rake of the _ton_.

"Oh yes," he drawled, leaning against the chair back. "Very diverting, indeed. Tell me, what did you think of Lord Malfoy's bow?"

"Too pretentious by half," she replied immediately and unthinkingly, only to realise her blunder moments later. Grimacing at her gaffe, she added, "Though it was very...elegant." There. That would fix it.

He barked a laugh. "Pretentious is one word for it, although," here he dropped his voice and leaned towards her conspiratorially, "I would say another word for it is poncey."

"Poncey?" She shook her head. "No. No, not poncey. I think more…extravagant."

"Fanciful?" he offered. "Unnecessary?"

"Idiotic," Harry input helpfully from across the table. "Completely unnecessary _and_ idiotic. And poncey, actually. And pretentious. All of those words."

"Even elegant?" Lord Potter asked slyly from his spot down the table.

Harry glared at his father. "No. Not that."

"I don't know," Sirius said doubtfully, clearly enjoying this overmuch. "The way he swept his arms out...I would call that quite elegant."

"It was very well done indeed," Aunt Minnie allowed, "though I almost pitied poor Lord Longbottom."

The entire table took a collective moment to recognise the near disaster that had almost occurred.

"And what about poor Miss Bulstrode?" Lady Potter broached the subject of the witch with a slow shake of her head. "That was very poorly done, although I did hear her mother had refused to allow her any comportment lessons."

"Any?" Aunt Min stopped with her spoon halfway between her mouth and her bowl of soup, which was almost empty. "That poor child."

"I heard her family's not in good standing," Lord Potter told them confidentially.

Hermione frowned. "As in...they're not accepted by others?"

"No, Miss Granger." Lord Black looked at her as though she was a sweet, naive miss. "As in the Bulstrodes are not in a financially good standing."

"James, Sirius," Lady Potter reprimanded them as the soup dishes were whisked away and the dessert course was placed in front of them, "this is not a conversation appropriate for ladies."

"Oh yes, because the mere mention of money is going to make me swoon into my ice," Hermione murmured.

Next to her, Sirius was startled into a laugh, which he then attempted to cover up by loudly inquiring, "Lily, are you serving us _ices_ for dessert? To what do we owe such a spectacular treat?"

Lady Potter sniffed daintily. "A most commendable showing by both our Harry and Hermione, of course. They did such a splendid job. Harry, darling, I got Chef Dubois to make your favourite."

"Pistachio?" he asked eagerly, picking up the little spoon excitedly.

Indulgently, she nodded. "What else?"

As the dessert course wound down, Hermione found herself feeling increasingly tired. The day had been rather stressful, after all, despite the fact she had not been particularly invested in the outcome. But now that the outcome had been the exact opposite of what she would have liked, she found the day's events weighing more heavily on her.

All that socialising. All the people. All the talking and etiquette and general inanities.

Most inconvenient indeed.

"My lord." Howards, the Potter's butler, came and stood by Lord Black's chair with a salver held out on the palm of his hand. "I know this is most irregular, but it was expressly ordered to be brought to you, no matter your location."

Lord Black frowned as he picked up the single missive, which was made of thick, cream vellum.

A missive sent to another person's house? Hermione frowned at that. It was, as Howards had said, _most irregular_ indeed.

Cracking the seal and unfolding the letter, his eyes scanned its contents. A moment later, he blanched and swallowed.

"Sirius?" Lady Potter asked, concerned. "Whatever is the matter?"

His smile, Hermione could tell now that she'd been treated to several genuine ones, was fake. "Nothing, Lily. Don't worry."

She could see that the older witch wanted to press, but after casting a brief glance at her and Aunt Min, who were only acquaintances of Lord Black's, Lady Potter refrained from inquiring further.

Even after they all adjourned for the evening, foregoing any post-dinner activities, Hermione burned to know what that missive had said.

Whatever it was, it must have been very important to put such an expression on the other wizard's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I avoiding things by writing this? Absolutely. Am I enjoying it? You betcha. 
> 
> Please take a second to leave a review! They make me smile.   
> 
> 
> _Next time: Sirius has to attend a meeting he would much rather avoid..._


	8. Chapter Eight

Of all the things Sirius had not foreseen but likely should have, Queen Charlotte's summons was one of them. The Queen was a well-known consumer of the scandal sheets, society columns, and everything in between, as she eagerly learned all that was going on in the _ton._ Whether all she learned was true or not remained a different matter entirely, but she read all the same things the rest of society did and drew her own conclusions.

And then came the worst part of it all: the potential for meddling.

Sirius was uncertain whether or not anyone else had the luxury of enjoying her personal interest in their (fake, though he would never disclose that to her) romances, but Her Majesty was reputedly very fond of tracking his activities each Season.

Last year had been the first time she had summoned him — and _only_ him, as the missive explicitly stated — to St James, whereupon she had quite neatly boxed him into escorting her personal Master Potioneer to the opera.

Needless to say, Severus Snape was neither a fan of the opera nor a fan of him, though Sirius couldn't figure out why about the latter. They'd never met previous to that outing (their _only_ outing, he was glad to report), but the man was so taciturn as to be rude. He'd had a hard time getting any remark out of him, and when he _had_ , they had been so dry as to be cutting. Even now, he still couldn't figure out if he'd been insulted the entire evening and was too inept to realise.

James had almost howled himself sick with laughter when Sirius had recounted the event to him. Ever since, all his friend had to do was look at him, smirk, and ask, "Fancy a night at the opera?" in order for Sirius to turn milk white.

He truly hoped that such a horrid outcome would not be the result of her second summons, but he braced himself as he dismounted Canis and fiddled with the fall of his jacket. It would not do to be anything less than pristine when going off to battle, after all.

His entree to the formal receiving room was quite painless, although his relief at seeing others waiting for an audience with her was soon quashed as he was directed out of the room and into the Queen's favourite gardens.

It appeared he would be taking tea with Her Majesty. Alone.

How wonderful.

"Your Majesty." He bowed and scraped appropriately, only daring to look into her face as he arose from the most extravagant bow he could conjure up. "You are radiant as always."

It was true, of course. She was the most fashion forward of them all, and her friendship with the French queen Marie Antoinette had influenced her dress to be a bit more risque than the _grand dames_ of the _ton_ permitted _,_ though he gave it only a matter of time until he saw some of her more daring silhouettes adorning the nobility.

Gracefully, she waved a gloved hand at him, the diamond studded cuff winking in the low light of the crisp fall day. "Take a seat, Your Grace."

In short order, Sirius was attempting to choke down a watercress tea sandwich as the Queen surveyed him over the rim of a dainty tea cup that Sirius thought had more ornamental than practical value. "Have you decided who you'll be escorting this Season?"

"I have not, your Majesty."

She levelled him with a look. "Whyever not? The Season has already begun, as you well know. After all, I saw you at the Presentation with the Duke of Gryffindor, his wife, and their son."

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't out and say that he had yet to be approached by someone, as his whole scheme would be unwound quicker than a wink. "Nobody has caught my eye quite yet, I'm afraid."

A slender brow arched, and Sirius resisted the urge to quail. That eyebrow had boded ill for him last year, too. He dreaded the mere _thought_ of being informed he would be escorting the Master Potioneer once more.

"I beg to differ," the Queen responded haughtily. "I think someone has drawn your attention rather decidedly."

Damn and blast. Who was she going to pair him with, now? It had better not be with Miss Edgecomb **.** "They have?"

She sniffed. "Do not try and play coy with me, Sirius Black. You know as well as I do that you've been ensnared by none other than Miss Granger."

He only _just_ managed to avoid choking on a scone, instead uncrossing his legs as he stammered, "M-Miss _Granger_?"

"Do you think to make me repeat myself?"

"No, of course not," he hastened to reassure her. "I simply was….caught off guard by it all."

"So?" she demanded. "What of it?"

"Of Miss Granger?"

"Sometimes I forget how imbecilic the weaker sex of the species is." Queen Charlotte sighed the sigh of the truly aggrieved. "Yes, Lord Black. It is _obviously_ Miss Granger who I speak of. What are you going to do about your _tendré_?"

His.. _.tendré._ The _tendré_ he had been secretly harbouring. The _tendré_ he had been hiding so well, in fact, that he had hidden it from himself. _That_ _tendré_.

Right.

"I haven't yet made a decision about what to do," he said carefully, trying to feel his way. As her other eyebrow rose to match the first and spelt his impending doom, he quickly added, "but I was...thinking of...asking her to...accompany me to the Bones' musical recital?" When her lips turned down at the corner, he hastily amended his statement. "Or perhaps the Diggory's Ball?" It was one of _the_ opening events of the Season, so he hoped the import of it would satisfy her.

Thankfully, her brows lowered, her lips curved up, and Queen Charlotte nodded decisively. "That shall do quite nicely as an opening salvo. I expect weekly updates as to your activities, of course."

He tried not to show his horror, but judging by the vaguely amused expression she was now sporting — he rather thought she was enjoying his slow torture — he failed. Dismally.

"Of course," he echoed faintly. "I shall endeavor to do my best."

"Although I do anticipate seeing mentions of you in the society column, I want your personal recounting of the events, as well as your feelings on the girl. I think she is quite the find, though she may be a little unpolished. Oh, and Your Grace?"

"Yes, your Majesty?"

"Do be honest." She folded her hands in her lap. "I'll know if you aren't."

It isn't until he's back home and brushing down Canis that he truly let it sink in.

"We're in a bit of a situation, aren't we, my boy?" he murmured as he let the soft bristled brush stroke down Canis' midnight neck. "The Queen herself is meddling in my affairs. I should have known that she'd get involved again."

Canis nickered at him as Sirius stroked firmly over his shoulders, leaning into the brush.

"Like that, do you?" he stroked his favourite horse's muzzle lightly. "Who doesn't like to be stroked? Probably Miss Granger, don't you think? She'd be too busy telling me how to do it to let herself enjoy it." He huffed a laugh and then sighed deeply. "But that doesn't matter now, my boy. We're in this whether we like it or not."

Drawing away, he placed the brush on the edge of the stall and rested his forehead on the blaze on Canis' forehead. The stallion, in an unusual show of mercy, humoured him, and for a long moment, Sirius breathed in the smell of horseflesh and hay. Everything was easier around animals. Horses, dogs, even hippogriffs. The creatures made sense to him in a way that people, with their tendency toward falseness and cruelty, didn't.

"It'll be alright," he told Canis, though he knew the words were for himself. "It'll be a Season just like any other, and Miss Granger was an enjoyable dinner companion. I just feel as though there's more afoot than what I know."

A thought occurred to him, and he drew back, wiping a hand down his face. "Merlin, I'm going to have to ask to court her, aren't I?"

Canis's liquid eyes seemed to judge him, and Sirius squared his shoulders. "You're right, you're right. It's just that I don't usually do the asking, you see. But. Well. There's a first time for everything. I'm sure it will go splendidly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Regarding Queen Charlotte._ This version of Queen Charlotte is adapted from Shondaland's Bridgertons. I do believe the credit goes to Chris Van Dusen, the showrunner, for her invention. Credit where it is due, as always. Secondly, I am obsessed with Queen Charlotte. If I could channel her spirit, I would be queen of the universe in like five seconds.
> 
> I do not anticipate adding any additional characters from either the Netflix show or Julia Quinn's novels (they're awesome, 15/10 recommend), so I would not qualify this as a crossover. Queen Charlotte simply made it known that she was going to be here, and if I said no, she would double eyebrow raise + frown at me, and we all know that is Very Bad (just ask Sirius. Actually, don't. He's still traumatised.)
> 
>  _A quick note on why I'm writing at warp speed:_ My friend in real life has been on me to write this fic, so. If you want someone to thank, it's her. All hail Raj. She's the real queen.
> 
> _Next time: An overture of courtship is made. As to the specifics, dear Readers, I leave that until next time..._


	9. Chapter Nine

"No, thank you."

Hermione looked into the mischievous grey eyes of Sirius Black, Duke of Silverstoke, and wondered if she was dreaming. Truly, he couldn't have just asked her to accompany him to the Diggory's ball, could he?

It wasn't as though she hadn't fielded similar invitations over the last few days, as her fears about the Season had proven true: Queen Charlotte's stupid, one word beendiction had somehow shone a light more powerful than Hermione ever expected upon her. It was bad enough that she was an Heiress, and an Heiress to an Earldom, at that, but to have the Queen's blessing, too?

It was horrible.

But for some reason, she hadn't expected the change her life had so suddenly taken. The last few days had been one interminably long surprise after another, what with the crush of suitors that had shown up, the truly shocking amount of flowers that had been delivered, and the fact that invitations to various parties, balls, outings and the like were _still_ being delivered.

And the worst part of it all? She'd had to deal with it!

That meant talking and talking and _talking_ every morning during proper receiving hours, where each suitor tried to charm her within the apportioned fifteen minutes they had (selected by Aunt Min after Hermione tried to send them all away), followed by hours penning thank you letters and acceptances or rejections to events (also chosen by Aunt Minnie, who had taken over once it became known Hermione was declining all of them).

It was tedious. It was tiresome. And most of all, it was _boring._

But out of everything that had happened, this was perhaps the most surprising. She had failed to anticipate many things, but even if she were Cassandra, the Oracle of Delphi herself, she would not have been able to foresee this.

Sirius Black, the Rake of the _Ton_ — of the _Siriusly Seductive_ , _Siriusly Sinful_ and _Siriusly Scandalous_ celebrity— had come calling on her. Her, of all people! She, who had glared and glowered and skirted the edges of politeness in her interactions with him. She, who had made it clear she did not like him: that she actively _dis_ liked him, in fact. She, who—

"Whyever not?"

"Does a lady need to give an explanation as to why she must decline an invitation?" she asked incredulously, closing her fan with a snap and hitting the palm of her hand with it. "No means no, Your Grace."

His eyes twinkled ever more outrageously at her. "I can respect such an answer. I simply wished to know — is it the cut of my coat, perhaps? Or the colour, even? I have heard that coat colours are quite the thing to comment on these days." He seemed to be laughing at a joke that only he was privy to. "I do realise I interrupted your...moment at _Flourish and Blotts_ the other day, but surely you can't hold that against me."

"A coat colour?" she echoed dumbly. Was it possible he was foxed, despite it being only eleven in the morning? "And yes, I _can_ hold that against you. I wanted that book to talk about with my steward!"

He frowned. "You were going to _read_ it?"

"As opposed to what, using it as a coaster? You might do such things, Your Grace, but _I_ do not, I assure you. I take great pride in being involved in my parents'—in _my_ estate." She barely stumbled as she corrected herself. "It is my family's legacy. Though you might not treasure yours, given how much cavorting around you do, I treasure mine."

" _Treasure my_ —Miss Granger, you know very little of what you speak." Those mercurial eyes of his glinted. "Merlin forbid me from having to consort with presumptuous know-it-alls," he muttered, and Hermione reared back.

" _Excuse me_?"

He had the wherewithal to look a bit chagrined at that. "I apologise, but...Miss Granger. Have you ever stopped for one moment in your quest for...whatever it is you wish to do—"

"Opening a bookshop or a lending library so that whoever wishes to read may read whatever they please."

"What?" He blinked.

She lifted a shoulder before dropping it. "If you're going to insult my aspirations, I figured you may wish to know them, first." When he stared at her, dumfounded, she waved a hand magnanimously. "Go on."

But it seemed his rather idiotic tirade had been waylaid, as he now seemed...intrigued. Blast it.

"What kind of books would you have? And where? Would _you_ run it?"

She searched his eyes for any hint of insincerity or jesting, but found them clear of anything except what appeared to be sincere interest.

"Well," she began cautiously, "I would want to have a variety, you see, so—"

"Your Grace, what a pleasant surprise." Aunt Minnie, who had extricated herself from the clutches of two or three suitors — and was that _Marietta Edgecombe_ of all people in her parlour? Would wonders never cease — interrupted Hermione without any sign of remorse whatsoever. "How are the Potters this morning?"

Lord Black smiled. "I'm not certain myself, as I came directly from my townhome this morning, but they were all in wonderful health last evening."

"Good, good." Aunt Min nodded. "Would you like some tea? A scone, perhaps? Cook made _wonderful_ blueberry scones this morning, though Hermione is partial to the strawberry herself."

Hermione would rather choke on a scone than continue this conversation, she thought resentfully. Now that Aunt Min was here, she had little room to strategize an escape. Her Aunt would see her at the Diggory's ball on Lord Black's arm or die trying, if only so she could crow to her friends about it. Aunt Min could be so ferociously competitive about the most insipid things.

"No, thank you." Lord Black shook his head lightly. "Say, have you heard about the upcoming ball at the Diggory's?"

"Oh, yes," Aunt Min said brightly. "We received the invitation a month or so ago when they first went out. The theme is something strange, if I remember correctly. _Fae and Festivities_ , was it? I can't wait to see the decorations. Cordelia always has the strangest of ideas."

He nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. "It's sure to be a spectacle, indeed. I was just asking Miss Granger if she'd like to accompany me so that we could...enjoy it together."

"And _I_ was just saying that I simply could not—ow!" she hissed in pain as Aunt Min surreptitiously trod on her foot. "I wasn't sure that it would be—will you _stop that!"_

She glared at her guardian, who, it seemed, was bound and determined to cause her permanent injury. "I do beg your pardon, Lord Black."

"It's quite alright, Miss Granger." He appeared immensely entertained by the scuffle occurring in front of him.

"Unfortunately, as I was saying earlier, I shall have to decline your invitation," she went on, although she could feel the temperature of the room plummeting as Aunt Min radiated her displeasure, "but I thank you all the same."

Lord Black took a step closer to her, his voice lowering as he inquired, "And as _I_ asked earlier, would you do me the courtesy of informing me why?"

"And as _I was saying_ earlier," she began to reply hotly, "it is because I could think of nobody else that I would rather—"

"Lord Black," Aunt Minnie interrupted suddenly as she gripped Hermione's arm in a punishingly tight hold, "may I have a moment with Hermione? I fear she is feeling rather parched and might not be thinking quite straight."

"Is that so?" Suddenly all solicitous concern, Lord Black offered, "I shall call for some refreshments. You must have been talking all morning. Please, take a seat." He guided her to a chair and ensured she was comfortably installed there before going off with the reassurance that he would "return posthaste."

"What are you thinking?" Hermione hissed at Aunt Min. "There is no _way_ you can convince me to go with Lord Black no matter how many times you step on my foot!"

"Don't be silly, you impudent girl," Aunt Min chastised her. "He's an excellent choice to escort you. My dear girl, he is a _Duke_! You do not turn down a Duke, no matter how distasteful you find the man, and I could think of _many_ worse wizards to spend an evening with!"

"He could be Prinny himself and I wouldn't care." Hermione firmed up her chin. She'd made her decision, and nothing would dissuade her. With an air of finality, she told Aunt Min, "Lord Black is not a good match for me, and that is that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next time: Queen Charlotte would be most pleased to know he accidentally matched Miss Grangers's gown. Loathe as he was to admit it, they made quite a striking pair as they descended the large, sweeping staircase at the Diggory's._


	10. Chapter Ten

The Diggory's ball was likely to be one of the most oft-discussed events of the Season for sheer dint of the decorations alone. Artemesia Diggory had a flair for illusion as well as a vivid imagination, and she had wielded both (along with an army of servants) to great end. The interior of the sweeping townhouse had been transformed into a fantastical forest, complete with streams, bridges, pathways, and animals both great and small. Every now and again, faeries flitted by on minute gossamer wings, trailing stardust in their wakes, and Sirius marvelled at how long the charmwork must have taken to make such a thing.

Whimsical decorations aside, his approach to the evening had taken on the air of a military campaign, complete with subterfuge, espionage, and lengthy strategising. The last of those had caused him to arrive earlier than he usually did to ensure that he did not miss the stubborn Miss Granger's entrance. Despite the fact that both he and his unlikely ally, the Lady McGonagall herself, had failed to change Miss Granger's mind about accepting his suit, Sirius was determined to fulfill Queen Charlotte's commands. Formal escort he might not be, but informal escort he would do quite well indeed.

It also helped, he thought smugly, that he'd sent a servant to bribe one of Miss Granger's maids to tell him of the witch's gown so that he could match it. In the battle he found himself in, every bit of inside information counted. If he played his hand right, nobody would know they were not _purposefully_ a matched pair (though on his end it actually was), and their attachment would still land in the morning sheets regardless of Hermione's participation, willing or not.

Stephens, his ever efficient butler, had reported to him that the petite brunette would be wearing a gown of silver with a blue accent, and Sirius had dressed accordingly in a muted blue waisåt jacket and silver brocade vest with a white cravat pinned in place using a sapphire pin. What Stephens had failed to include in his report, however, was that Miss Hermione Jane Granger, the Heiress of Keltham, was an absolute vision in silver and midnight blue, the dark sash tied underneath her breasts making her silhouette impossibly pleasing to the eye.

"Merlin," he muttered. It was bad enough she was an Heiress, but to be blessed by the Queen _and_ beautiful to boot? He'd be hexing would-be swains left and right if he didn't stake his claim right away.

As she neared the bottom of the sweeping staircase, he rapidly ascended the last few steps and held out his hand. "My lady," he said loudly enough for the crush to hear at the bottom of the steps, "I have been anticipating this moment all evening, as I have missed your presence since I saw you last. You steal my very breath away."

He almost choked on a laugh when she lifted her chin and stared at him haughtily. Her eyes promised murder though her words couldn't sound any sweeter as she daintily placed her hand in his and allowed him to assist her down the steps. "Your Grace is simply far too kind," she simpered demurely, her smile just slightly too toothy to be real.

"I am truthful," he corrected, knowing everyone was listening. "Since we spoke in your parlour last week about this evening's ball, I've imagined little else but a dance with you. Shall we open the ball together?"

Her lips curved into a happy, mean little smile. "I am _ever_ so sorry, Your Grace, but I'm afraid I've promised most of my dances already."

Had she now? The little minx. He inclined his head in the barest of nods. _Point to you._

"Is that so?" he replied easily as he caught up her dance card, which dangled from her wrist. "I shan't want to let you promise them all to others without saving one for me. I don't know how I would bear it if I were not able to stand across from you. Ah. The supper dance still looks to be free. What luck! I get both a dance and the pleasure of your companionship over the meal. I do so look forward to hearing your scintillating observations about the evening."

Hermione's smile grew distinctly shark-like. "The meals would be so lacking otherwise," she said sweetly, "as I prefer substance to meaningless gossip, which you seem so fond of being the topic of."

"It's not that I enjoy it," he replied, "but rather that most people enjoy _me_."

Her brow arched as the strains of the first dance began. "I daresay that I am not one of your fans, Your Grace."

He smiled charmingly. "I look forward to changing your mind later this evening."

"This is a large task to complete over the course of an evening."

Staring straight into her eyes, he said, "I am nothing if not determined."

Dean Thomas, the heir to the earldom of Yorkshire, made his way through the crowd and bowed over Miss Granger's hand even as she and Sirius continued to lock eyes in a battle of wills. "Miss Granger, you look positively lovely this evening. Shall we go? The floor awaits."

The challenging look in her eyes eased into something more genuinely friendly as she glanced over at Thomas. "Of course. I love nothing better than a spirited quadrille!" And with that, she flounced off on the young buck's arm, sparing nary a look behind her.

Sirius couldn't help the way the corner of his mouth pulled to the side as he watched them take their places. As the music started and she began to move, Sirius found himself riveted to the sight.

Sirius had attended countless balls over his lifetime. All were some variation of the same: pointless chatter, coy glances, endless dancing, tiny scandals, fake smiles, cold eyes. All the same song, all the same dance. Over and over again, he had gone through the motions, growing ever inured to the sights and sounds he saw. People laughed as other people drank as other people spun in endless circles in glittering gold and satin and velvet.

This ball was no different than all the others he had attended but for Miss Granger, whose eyes flamed and who danced as if she were at war, her body passing through the steps with some inherent grace even as her back remained board straight and the jut of her chin defiant.

Was she a natural dancer? No. Was she good? Perhaps. But was she interesting? Unequivocally.

She was different. And different, Sirius found, was something he rather liked quite a lot.

"Enjoying the evening?" Harry drew up next to him, holding a drink in one hand as he surveyed the crush.

Peering into his godson's glass, Sirius raised a brow. "Is that ratafia?" Harry hated the drink.

He lifted a shoulder. "It's too hot in here by half. I'd drink water from the horse's trough at this point and be glad for it."

"Too good to drink the beverages consumed by the masses, are you, Potter?" Malfoy, resplendent in a daring ivory waistcoat and smoke grey waist jacket, somehow appeared by Harry's side, his eyes locked on the other boy. "Here. Have this instead."

Sirius watched in veiled amusement as Malfoy plucked the glass of ratafia out of Harry's grip and replaced it with something else. Frowning, Harry looked down at it. "Where in the blazes did you get madeira?"

Malfoy sniffed pretentiously, though Sirius couldn't help but note the way his gaze fastened on Harry's throat as he swallowed down the drink. "As if I would reveal my secrets to you, Potter. You'd likely as not go drink the entire barrel if given the choice. Now that you're less apt to make a scene by fainting on the floor, let's see if your dancing has improved. I doubt it."

Harry really was so easy. Temper riled, he passed his glass off to Sirius, his entire posture one of offense. "Improved compared to when, Malfoy? You've never even seen me dance, have you? I'd like to see you do better than I."

And with that, he slapped his hand into Malfoy's offered palm and fairly dragged the blonde boy onto the floor as the strains of an uptempo number filled the room.

Miss Granger, meanwhile, had changed partners and was standing across from a tall boy with slim shoulders and a whipcord strong frame. Sirius recognised him, distantly, from somewhere else. Perhaps he'd come out a few Seasons past? Hm. Or from the fencing salon? Ah. No. He was Theodorus's boy, wasn't he? Theodore Nott, Viscount of Somerset?

As the dance commenced, he realised they had an ease with each other that Hermione had not displayed with any other partner thus far. She spun gaily around Nott, clasping and releasing his hands with an easy smile and bright eyes as they conversed.

It was unfortunate, he thought, that she looked so becoming like this. While she shone brightest when angered, she glowed when happy and she dazzled when she danced. Her trim figure cut a clean picture as she moved, her cheeks pink from her exertion and her mouth curved in a bewitching smile.

"Hello, cousin. Watching the revelry?"

It appeared as though both Malfoys would inflict themselves upon him tonight. Turning his attention to Narcissa, he gave a slight bow and returned her greeting before returning his attention to his wayward witch, who was now laughing at something Nott had said, her head tilted back. "Something like that."

Narcissa followed the path of his gaze and arched a slim brow. "The Granger girl? Truly, she seems...unlike your other past paramours."

Because she was.

"She's different, that is true," he acknowledged, "but she's compelling all the same." Like a moth drawn to a flame, batting against the glass that trapped the light inside, his gaze returned to her again and again against his will.

"She certainly has a large fortune and a nice Earldom to go with it, but I fail to see how you would find either compelling since you need neither."

He had, for a brief moment, forgotten how mercenary the _grand dames_ of the _ton_ could be. If he responded the way he wished and told her it wasn't her money nor her land that he found interesting, then she would ask what it _was_ , precisely, that he did.

And _that_ was a question he didn't want to answer for himself, either. Yes, she was striking, and yes, she could dance well enough, and yes, she had a sharp tongue and quick wit, but he would never have watched her in the way he was now had Queen Charlotte not demanded he dance attendance on her. But she had, and here he was, and now that his attention had been caught and directed...he found it rather difficult to turn away.

If he wanted to turn away at all.

Luckily, he was able to avoid answering her question, as the set finally ended and it was his turn to stand across from her. Once he descended the floating stairs and met her at the edge of the floor, he gave her his most rakish smile and extended his hand. "Miss Granger. Shall we dance?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still dissatisfied with this chapter but I don't think it'll get any better no matter how many times I write it, so here it is! Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> _Next Time: Do they dance? Yes. Do they dine? Yes. Does it go well? That, my dear Readers, remains to be seen..._


End file.
